


Once Upon A Time Slash Ficlets

by Salmon_Pink



Series: Once Upon A Time Ficlets [2]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV), Once Upon a Time in Wonderland (TV)
Genre: Community: fan_flashworks, Community: writers_choice, M/M, Rough Sex, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-21
Updated: 2014-11-13
Packaged: 2018-02-22 02:08:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2490563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Salmon_Pink/pseuds/Salmon_Pink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Assorted Once Upon A Time ficlets, all featuring slash pairings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Reflecting (David/Killian)

**Author's Note:**

> All ficlets under 500 words, all individually rated. Additional content notes, such as kinks and spoilers, included where necessary.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> David/Killian, rated NC-17. Rough sex. Voyeurism. Written for [Writer's Choice](http://writers-choice.livejournal.com/), prompt "mirror".

They’re in the bathroom at Granny’s diner. Killian wants to comment on that, make some crack about royalty and slumming it in places beneath their station, but he can’t, not when David’s kissing him so _deeply_. Backing him up against the sinks, fingers in Killian’s hair, making a huge fucking mess of it as he uses it to pull Killian’s head back and attack his neck.

The tip of Killian’s hook makes a sharp, unpleasant sound as it scrapes against the ceramic, and David bites down hard enough to make him grunt, hips shoving forward in search of friction.

He’s used to David manhandling him; their relationship’s been characterised by violence from the start. Enemies first, a tentative truce leading into something like comradeship, and now they have this, the desperate slide of their bodies moving together, the _heat_ between them.

Killian’s a captain, he’s used to being the one giving orders. But he lets David turn him with rough, frustrated movements, until David’s pressed up against his back, a hand at his neck bending Killian over the sinks.

He wouldn’t allow this from just anyone. But there’s something about David shoving him around like this that makes him desperate and hungry, that makes him want to buck and struggle just to see if David will get _more_ forceful with him.

David’s hands tug impatiently at the laces of Killian’s trousers, shoving them down until the leather stretches taut around his thighs. Killian holds on to the rim of the sink with his good hand, hook wedged into plaster where the counter meets the wall.

Granny’ll glare at him for days when she sees the scrapes, and truth be told the woman intimidates the hell out of him, but Killian can’t bring himself to care right now. Not when David’s thrusting against his arse, his cock dragging wet and hot down the cleft, and Killian’s panting, eyes falling shut as he focuses on the _feel_ of it.

David’s hand wraps around his throat, nudges his chin up. Killian knows the mirror is there, but he’s somehow still not expecting the closeness of their reflections, the way David’s looking at him with such open lust. David smirks at him in the mirror, leans forward over Killian’s back, never breaking eye-contact.

“Look at you,” he breathes against Killian’s ear, voice low and husky. “I can _see_ how bad you want it.”

Killian groans, closes his eyes again, but David’s hand squeezes lightly at his throat, coaxing him to watch.

“You want me inside of you, don’t you?” David murmurs, and fuck, it isn’t fair, a prince talking so filthy, stirring Killian up like this. 

They don’t have time for anything more than this, but that doesn’t mean Killian doesn’t _ache_ for it when the head of David’s cock nudges against his hole. Teasing him, making him growl and rock back against the pressure.

David reaches around, begins to stroke him fast, lips curved as his gaze never leaves Killian’s face.


	2. Down The Bottom Of A Glass (Will/Jefferson)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will/Jefferson, rated PG-13. Set before _Once Upon A Time In Wonderland_. Written for [Writer's Choice](http://writers-choice.livejournal.com/), prompt "reunion".

The Rabbit Hole is loud as always, full of Storybrooke’s not-so-finest trying to drown their sorrows. Will’s been propping up the bar for a least an hour when a familiar voice murmurs in his ear, “Hello, _Knave_.”

Will sighs down into his pint. “Bloody hell,” he mutters, turning to glare at Jefferson’s smirk.

The other man looks more well-kept than Will remembers. Less pale, shorter hair, that haunted look in his eyes lessened. “Is that any way to greet an old friend?” 

“Good to see you, old _friend_ ,” Will replies, the last word hissed like an insult, but Jefferson just laughs, pressing into Will’s personal space. “What do you want, Hatter?”

Something flickers across Jefferson’s face then, but it’s gone in an instant, and Will’s drunk enough that he’s content to pretend he imagined it. “Just thought perhaps you’d rather not drink alone.”

“Well, you thought wrong,” Will snorts, staring down into his near-empty glass. “Don’t you have a daughter you should be simpering over?”

Jefferson’s smile gets broader, _sharper_. “You’ve been checking up on me, Knave?”

Will shrugs, staring out across the bar. “Just enough to know about your stupidly big house in the woods.”

Jefferson regards him thoughtfully. “I’m surprised you haven’t tried to rob me yet.”

Will fixes him with a level stare. “Maybe I just didn’t want to risk seeing _you_.”

He lets Jefferson take the glass from his hand and drain the last of his beer. “Well, Grace is at a friend’s place for the night,” he says, the smirk gone now, his eyes intent. “I’ve got that stupidly big house all to myself.”

Going home with Jefferson is beyond stupid. But Will’s had just enough to drink that stupid is _exactly_ what he’s in the mood for.

The house is even more disgusting ostentatious inside, and a part of Will’s brain that never quite shuts up is telling him to keep an eye out for things he can slip into his pocket when he leaves. But the rest of him is too distracted by the way Jefferson kisses him, steering Will backwards through too-long corridors by the hands gripping the collar of Will’s jacket.

The bed is bloody _huge_ , the mattress the perfect shade of firm when Jefferson shoves him down against it. He watches as Jefferson pulls his shirt over his head in one hurried movement, and then he’s pressing down, pushing Will back against the sheets.

He’s going to hate himself for this in the morning. But he’ll hate himself anyway, and at least Jefferson _gets_ it. He knows how Wonderland can mess up a person’s head, and his weight feels so damn good. Hips rolling together, Will’s hand on Jefferson’s arse, teeth at his ear as he bucks up against that solid heat. 

Will’s spent so many nights alone, and this won’t fill that empty hole in his chest. But the slide of Jefferson’s lips has him feeling _something_ , and that’s more than Will’s had in a long time.


	3. Led By Left (Killian/Will)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Killian/Will, rated NC-17. Set during Season Four's _The Apprentice_. Spoilers. Rough sex. Written for [Fan Flashworks](http://fan-flashworks.livejournal.com), prompt "haunted".

Killian’s hand curls into a fist, the knuckles spattered with blood. Gold, that damn _crocodile_ , he’s doing it again, ripping Killian’s life apart, getting between him and the woman he loves.

His fingernails itch, like they long to claw at Gold’s skin, to tear and destroy. His past, his violence, his darkness, all manifested in his hand, beyond his control, trying to tell Killian that he is beyond redemption.

He wants to hurt someone. He wants to hurt _himself_. He wants to not think, to forget, to be outside his own head.

The man slumped at his feet pushes himself up, stumbling drunkenly. Back at the restaurant, Emma had identified him as apparently being named Will. 

Killian doesn’t care what he’s called, grabbing Will’s collar and hauling him up. There’s blood beneath Will’s nose, and his eyes are wide, wary but _interested_. 

He’s a man looking to forget himself, too. Like recognises like.

Will doesn’t resist when Killian shoves at him, yanking his arm and hauling him around the side of the building. Pushing him into the alley and against the wall, and Will’s eyes _flare_ , a leer on his mouth, lopsided and taunting.

Killian doesn’t want to taste the bitterness of his fate, not anymore, so he chases the taste of whiskey on Will’s lips instead.

“Fuck, _yes_ ,” Will slurs against his mouth, and his hands grab at Killian’s jacket, tilting his head back for the drag of Killian’s lips at his throat. “Let’s do this, _c’mon_.”

Sounding just as frustrated, just as desperate for distraction as Killian feels, and he kisses Will again to shut him up. Scrabbling at the fly of his jeans, and his hand, his cursed hand, drops lower, squeezes Will’s cock through the fabric just to enjoy his groan.

Will’s movements are sloppy, uncoordinated, but Killian’s hands, both of them, make quick work of the buttons that separate them. Flesh against flesh makes them both grunt, pushing closer, and Killian’s cursed hand wraps around both their cocks, holding them flush together. Biting at Will’s lip as he strokes them both, as their hips buck and thrust, frantic and brutal pace set by Killian’s anger, by the hungry sounds Will can’t hold back.

He doesn’t know this man, he doesn’t want to. But Will feels _good_ against him, solid and male, one hand fisting in the back of Killian’s jacket, the other on his arse. Urging him on, and this must be hurting him, his back scraping against the bricks. But maybe Will wants that pain, and Killian’s hands squeezes tighter without his permission, making him moan and shiver, his forehead dropping against Will’s shoulder as he fucks his own fist. It’s tight enough to hurt, but that makes it _better_ , makes it easier to shut everything else out.

Killian surrenders to it, lets his hand take over, moving as it wants. If he’s to be haunted by its cruelty, at least he can be allowed to find some _pleasure_ in its touch.


	4. Whiskey Burns Down Low (Will/Robin)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will/Robin, rated PG. Set during Season Four's _The Snow Queen_. Spoilers. Written for [Writer's Choice](http://writers-choice.livejournal.com/), prompt "honour".

It’s a nice change of pace, not being the drunkest man in the room for once. Sure, Will’s got that good burn going in his throat from decent whiskey, and he didn’t even have to steal it, Robin bought it for him fair and square. But Will’s only mildly buzzed, and Robin is _hammered_.

Will didn’t travel with the Merry Men all that long, but it was long enough to see them get good and plastered on more than one occasion. But not Robin. He’d drink with them, but Will never saw the man get _really_ drunk.

Turns out drunk Robin likes to get real handsy. He’s got one hand shoved down the back pocket of Will’s jeans, the other holding on to his jacket, and he’s kissing Will like he wants to brand Will’s lips, like he wants Will to be tasting him for the rest of his _life_.

It’s maybe the first thing that’s actually gone right for Will in a long while. Because he had a stupid crush on the man back in the Enchanted Forest, but a sneaking suspicion to match that Robin was as straight as one of his arrows. It’s nice to get a _pleasant_ surprise once in a while; he’s overdue. 

And he doesn’t need to be thinking things like that, doesn’t need to be thinking about everything that’s gone wrong, about Wonderland, about _her_.

Just one moment of happiness, or at least some sloppy drunken kissing, that’s all he’s asking. But he already knows he can’t have it, and Robin actually _growls_ when Will eases him back, this dark and feral sound that makes Will want to tip his head back and bare his throat.

But he can’t. God, he’s spent the last who-knows-how-long in a permanently drunken state, but for once he’s too sober for this. He’s sober and Robin isn’t. And Robin is all about honour. If the tables were turned, he wouldn’t take advantage of Will like this. Even if Will would _want_ him to.

There hasn’t been much honour in Will’s life lately, but he can be honourable in this one moment.

“Steady, mate,” he murmurs when Robin glares at him, and Robin’s always so nice, so approachable, that it’s easy to forget how _powerful_ he is. But the way he looks right now, tousled hair and swollen lips, eyes dropping hungrily to Will’s mouth, it’s hard to think of anything _but_ the potential of how rough he could be.

But Will’s going to be a decent person about this. He’s going to _try_.

Because it's not _him_ Robin wants.

“Why don’t you go home, sleep this off?” he suggests, voice as casual as he can make it.

He’s expecting an argument. He _wants_ an argument, wants Robin to stay.

But Robin grunts and backs off, blinking rapidly, hands slipping from Will’s body.

Doing the right thing is supposed to feel good, but Will just feels _hollow_ as he watches Robin walk away without a backwards glance.


End file.
